


The Crossroads of Destiny

by Butcher_of_Blaviken_666



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender, The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Adventure, Alternate Universe - Avatar & Benders Setting, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bending (Avatar), Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Geraskier, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Not Beta Read, Someone want to beta read for me?, The Witcher - Freeform, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:47:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23727046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Butcher_of_Blaviken_666/pseuds/Butcher_of_Blaviken_666
Summary: Six months after the events on the mountain, Jaskier finds himself traveling alone. One night he is attacked by Nilfgaardians searching for a certain Witcher.Destiny is a funny thing. You never know how things are going to work out. But if you keep an open mind and an open heart, I promise you, you will find your own destiny.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 19
Kudos: 67





	1. The Deserter

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! 
> 
> The Witcher fandom is my newest hyperfixation. I've watched the show but have never read the books or played the video games. This head cannon has been stuck in my head and I'm slowly going crazy in quarantine. 
> 
> So here it is! A blend of The Witcher and Avatar: The Last Airbender with Geraskier of course!
> 
> Please give me feedback so I can feel special and know if I should keep writing or give up forever lol

_If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands!_

Jaskier throws another small branch onto his pitifully small fire, heaving a great big sigh in the process. He had been doing so well ignoring the events of the day his heart shattered into a million pieces on that mountain six months ago. Jaskier tries so hard not to think about the past. It only brings him hurt and heartbrokenness. But tonight the moon shines bright and full and the melancholy settles deep in his bones, making him shiver even on a warm summer night. He sighs again and plucks a few broken notes on his lute. It’s been ages since he’s written anything new. His long smothered love rearing its ugly head in his chest tonight of all nights.

_Why is it whenever I’m in a pile of shit these days, it’s you shoveling it?!_

Today marks six months to the day. Jaskier knows he didn’t deserve what Geralt said. And wasn’t that the most unfair part of it all? He knows deep in his twenty-six year old heart that he did everything he could not only to save the reputation of the Witcher but to also show him that someone out there does care for him. He even grew to love the bastard dammit. Jaskier pulls his leather bound notebook out of his bag and opens it to a blank page. Grabbing his quill and a pot of ink, he settles down to finally write.

He doesn’t know how long he sits there with the sudden inspiration to compose. Jaskier just starts figuring out the melody he wants when a twig snapping behind him jerks him from his thoughts. He leaps to his feet holding his lute upside down in one hand as a makeshift weapon while slowly reaching for the dagger hidden in his boot.

“Oh, Melitele.” He swears desperately clutching the dagger tight and praying to the Gods above that he still remembers the lessons Geralt taught him so long ago. His heart races in his chest like a rabbits, it could be anything, werewolves, vampires, drowners?! He’d done his very best to stay out of troubles way just for it to find him now while he’s at his weakest.

He closes his eyes and focuses his hardest on slowing his breathing. He’s seen Geralt do it plenty of times while on a hunt. He strains his ears and listens to the forest around him for any sounds besides his own frantic heartbeat. The world narrows down to only his immediate surroundings. He hears the crackle of the fire and the sound of wind rustling the leaves in the trees. Then everything goes quiet and he hears it; the sounds of six individual breathing patterns.

_Fuck._

The sound of another twig snapping right behind him snaps Jaskier out of his trance. He spins on the toe of his boot throws the dagger as hard as he can with a force he didn’t know he possessed. He knows it hits true when he hears a gasp and a choked gurgle. A heavily armored man stumbles out of the tall bushes and into the light of the clearing, Jaskier’s dagger sticking straight out of his throat. The telltale yellow sun on his armor has all his remaining courage drain away.

_Nilfgaardians. Fuck._

Jaskier panics, spinning around and running straight into another soldier. His lute falls from his hand as an iron tight fist locks around his wrist squeezing tightly. Jaskier snaps his leg out landing a particularly brutal kick to the man’s groin.

“Fuck!” The man lets go of Jaskier’s wrist to clutch his balls, “Someone grab the little shit!”

A well-placed blow to the temple with the hilt of a sword sends him to the ground on his back. A pair of reflective amber eyes from the trees above gleaming in the firelight is the last thing he sees before darkness engulfs him.

… … … …

Jaskier’s slow crawl to consciousness is a painful one. A moment of confusion hits before it all comes rushing back to him in a wave of nausea. He just _killed_ a man. He’d never killed anyone before! What were Nilfgaardians doing all the way out here?! His panicked heart starts racing again and his head throbs. He goes to wipe something sticky from his eye and find that his hands and arms are bound tightly behind him. Jaskier pauses in his movements, attempting to remain appearing unconscious. No need to let them know he’s aware again. He slows his breathing and lets his face slacken back out. Ruckus laughter makes his head pound.

“Oi! Get a load of this one.” A clearing of a throat, “Just your smile lit a worn out lamp in my house that was darkened for days.” A heavy deep voice lilts higher in a mocking manner. The laughter roars louder, Melitele above, they were reading from his notebook.

“Give me that” a different voice says,“I’m weak my love and I am wanting!” the man moans loudly and obscenely, the laughter roaring again. There’s nothing he can do to stop the bright bloom of red appearing on his cheeks in embarrassment.

“Come now gentlemen, let’s lower our voices for our poor little lark.” A terrifyingly different and melodious voice rings in the clearing. “I believe he’s waking up now. Tavar.” The voice demands obedience with only an uttered name. 

A kick to Jaskier’s stomach has his eyes flying open as he gasps for breath. He opens his eyes and counts five Nilfgaardian soldiers. Suddenly a hand snakes into his hair grabbing a fistful and tilting his head back until his neck creaks with protest. He can barely keep his eyes open, the light making his head pound in new and different ways. The eyes that bore in to his are a sickening yellow. Not the amber cat-eye irises of a Witcher but a dandelion yellow. The man drags a finger up Jaskier’s throat to his chin, forcing eye contact.

“Hello little lark.” He smiles condescendingly. His teeth are white and sharp. His hair raven black. Jaskier tries not to be as terrified as he feels. “Tell me little lark, where is the Witcher?” He whispers in Jaskier’s ear making him shiver.

Jaskier laughs and musters as much confidence in his voice as he can. “You boys are a little behind on the gossip. I haven’t seen him since he practically threw me off the mountain six months ago.” He huffs a breath, “get a new hobby.” The finger on his chin turns to a hand on his throat squeezing until Jaskier can’t inhale. He starts to panic again struggling against his bonds. The man leans in to nose behind his ear and breathes deep. “Your fear is intoxicating little lark but my patience wears thin. “ The unnerving yellow eyes never leave his cornflower blue ones. Jaskier gasps for air, “ I don’t …. Know…Where he is.” He struggles to get out.

Suddenly the man’s full attention is elsewhere and the grip on his throat vanishes. Jaskier coughs and curls in on himself as he sucks air into his lungs. The man with yellow eyes stands up and searches through the darkness of the woods. He smiles a feral smile, “Finally.”

The other men stand nervously, drawing their swords and pulling their helmets back on quickly. Suddenly, the sound of a heavy body lands behind him from the tree branches above.

The man with yellow eyes draws a silver sword from his back and points it toward the newcomer. “Ah! Andromeda, just the disgusting half breed I was looking for!” He says waspishly maneuvering his sword into a ready stance of a man skilled in sword fighting.

_Who the fuck is an Andromeda?_

Jaskier’s coughing fit makes his eyes water as he struggles to look at the person behind him. The person is not very tall, probably quite a few inches shorter than Jaskier himself, but broad in the shoulders. They have a lanky frame while also simultaneously being muscularly curvy as well. Long red hair is tied up in a high ponytail displaying their pointy ears. They wear black armor not unlike Geralt’s but instead of armor meant to take brutal hits, theirs is light, meant for fast maneuvering. Two amber eyes glow bright, a mask covering their nose and mouth making their eyes shine maliciously brighter. Two swords on their back betrays what they are, a Witcher. 

“Raurket.” The Witcher says in a gravely deep voice.

That had Jaskier pausing in his coughing fit, the voice behind the mask sounded strangely…

“I find myself laughing at how you _magically_ appear just as I was about to start some fun with this little lark here.” He glances down at Jaskier , his eyes full of anger and something else Jaskier didn’t want to put a name to. Raurket levels his sword to the newcomer.

The newcomer, Andromeda, doesn’t even draw their sword. Just stares at Raurket with narrowed amber eyes while pressing a black-gloved hand to their chest, “You wound me Raurket, I thought you cared.”

Raurket snarls, his pointed teeth gleaming in the firelight. “My allegiance is to Nilfgaard now. You betrayed us all when you deserted us, this is your last chance to come quietly or die where you stand.”

The other men begin to draw closer around them. Jaskier stares up at the Witcher, begging them not to be an idiot! Andromeda taps a finger against their chin in mock contemplation. “What a choice you’ve given me, Raurket.” They say, “Either I get my ass kicked and die or I come quietly?” They mutter to themselves and Jaskier’s eyes go wide at the sarcastic cheek. They seem to make a decision suddenly, “How about I kick just all your asses instead?” They snarl back and all of a sudden the black ink from Jaskier’s discarded inkpot travels directly into Raurket’s eyes, blinding him temporarily. He shrieks and drops his sword to the ground just as chaos unleashes.

Andromeda is _quick_ Jaskier thinks to himself as he tries to watch them move. While Raurket is viscously trying to wipe the ink away from his eyes, Andromeda does quick work of disposing the other soldiers. Steel short sword drawn, they engage in battle in a way Jaskier has never seen before. They don’t fight like Geralt, who always fought with surety in his movements and brute strength to back it up. Andromeda dives under, over, and dodges attacks, using their own momentum against them. One soldier swings for an attack to their middle and they nimbly backflip over the sword and swing up on the landing. The up-strike takes the Nilfgaardians arm clean off. He screams as blood sprays from the wound.

“It’s water, you fucking idiots!” Raurket screams to his men. Meanwhile, a soldier finds his head separated from his shoulders as it rolls off his neck and hits the forest floor with a wet thump, his eyes in permanent fear. Andromeda whips around just as Jaskier feels a blade pressed hard against his throat. Raurket is the last man standing and Andromeda lets their steel blade drop, their hands coming up in surrender.

“I though it was steel for humans and silver for monsters.” Andromeda’s voice says from behind the mask. “He has nothing to do with this. Let him go.”

Raurket laughs harshly. “You just killed all my men and you think I’m going to spare this fools life?” Jaskier feels the blade press tighter to his throat and a trickle of blood falls down his neck. “You disgust me, Andromeda. You always have.” Raurket spits.

Andromeda takes a step forward and Raurket screams, “Not a step closer Andromeda.” He laughs, “Viper made a mistake when they chose a _woman_ like you to…”

The rest of his sentence doesn’t come out as all the trees, grass, and bushes around them wither to corpses as if they were drained of life like blood from a human by a vampire. Jaskier tries to comprehend what his eyes are seeing. A whirling wave of water circles around all three of them quick and then rushes towards Jaskier in a huge torrential wave. He closes his eyes bracing for an impact that never comes. Suddenly there is no longer a blade against his throat and the grip on his hair is gone.

Jaskier opens his eyes hesitantly and doesn’t see Raurket anywhere. He looks at Andromeda and sees their eyes shining viciously in a fighting stance he has never seen before. They rush towards Jaskier pulling a dagger from their belt. “Are you ok to walk?”

Jaskier can’t form words in his mouth. He can’t speak. He’s been rendered speechless for the first time in his life as he tries to comprehend what he just witnessed. He’s never seen…

Snapping fingers are in front of his face. “Hellooooo, earth to bard! I need you to answer me.”

Jaskier snaps out of a trance, “You…you…you” It’s all he can say.

Amber eyes gleam in amusement, “Yes yes, very eloquent. But we need to run now. That won’t keep him down for much longer. Do you have a horse?”

Jaskier shakes his head and Andromeda huffs an irritated breath so familiar that Jaskier has to close his eyes as they get the last of the rope cut.

“Mine is about two miles north, if we can get there quick we can hide our scent by the river running east of here. Can you walk?”

To be honest, Jaskier doesn’t even know if he can speak right now let alone walk. Another irritated huff and suddenly Jaskier is in those strong arms bridal style.

“You better not pass out on me. I’ll leave your ass here.”

It’s so achingly familiar Jaskier thinks as he promptly passes out.


	2. The Chase

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier wakes up with a strange Witcher. They talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. What a great reception! I got excited and wrote another chapter for you guys. I hope you enjoy it. <3
> 
> I don't claim to know anything about the lore behind this and I'm taking serious creative liberties.

Jaskier wakes to the insistent sounds of birds chirping and rushing water over rocks. He groans at the pounding headache he still possesses and promptly rolls over onto his stomach to throw up the meager contents of his stomach. The first light of dawn is just breaking over the Eastern horizon. 

“I couldn’t heal the concussion while you were passed out.” A voice behind him says apologetically.

He groans and presses his fingers into his eyelids, trying to try to ease the onslaught of pain. “Aren’t you supposed to make sure I _don’t_ fall asleep with a concussion?” Jaskier snarks back quietly as to not make the pain worse than it already is. Gods above, it feels like one thousand horses are stomping around and terrorizing his skull. He heaves another bout of stomach bile onto the sand next to him and turns to look at the Witcher sitting on river shoreline. Their back is turned to him, and Jaskier can’t help but stare at how the suns rays catch on the long straight locks, showing dark brunette close to the roots and fading gradually into a fiery bright red near the tips. Their posture suggests that they have been meditating for a while now. What was their name again? Abbysomething? It hurts to think.

They do a fancy spin and suddenly they are standing and walking towards him barefooted. Jaskier can finally see the Witchers face unobscured by the mask, and Jaskiers heart stutters for a brief moment in his chest. They’re simultaneously beautiful and handsome that Jaskier can’t decide which one is the more accurate descriptor. Jaskier can just make out two faint pink scars running across their throat and just under their lower lip from ear to ear.

They uncork a leather flask at their hip and Jaskier realizes just how parched his throat is and reaches desperately for the flask; a slap across his hand has him clutching his hand back to his chest.

“No idiot, that’s not for drinking.”

They unlatch the flask and do a fancy twirl with their hand. It’s that magic Jaskier has never seen before again, the water flowing out of the flask to encompass both their hands. If Jaskier’s head didn’t hurt so much he’d ask how the fuck they are able to do that. Cold gentle fingers wrap around his skull and he feels the water flowing around his head soothingly. Jaskier sighs in newfound relief and he closes his eyes at the blissful reprieve.

“They got you pretty good bard.” They say in that gravelly voice, “Any harder and I suspect you would’ve had serious brain damage.” The gentle watery fingers leave his head in a manner that Jaskier can’t describe as anything other than weird. “And thanks to you, we’re stuck with Water for another day.” The say in a sing-song voice of annoyance.

Jaskier scoffs in confusion at that last statement, “Well _excuse me_ for being ambushed _Miss…_ ” is all Jaskier gets out before an icy cold dagger is pressed tight against his throat.

“Call me Miss or any other gendered pronoun one more time and I’ll gut you where you stand before you can even scream for mommy.” Their voice hisses in his ear quiet and deadly. “Do I make myself clear?” The blade presses just a little bit harder into the soft flesh of his throat.

Jaskier nods frantically throwing his hands up in surrender, “Yes! Yes! I’m sorry! I will never do it again!”

The dagger leaves his throat and Jaskier opens his eyes in time to see that it wasn’t a real dagger at all, but a makeshift shank of ice. He watches in amazement as the water melts and flows back into the flask, the latch closing with a pop. “I’m glad we’ve come to an understanding,” they say as they walk towards a dark grey mare tied to a nearby tree. They reach around in the saddlebag and procure three green apples and a flask of water. They toss the flask to Jaskier who catches it and immediately opens it to take a long pull, the ice-cold water soothing his dried throat. “Thank you,” He says sincerely, “for saving my life, for…whatever you did just now to make my headache better, for everything really.” Jaskier can’t remember the last time he was this ineloquent. “How can I ever repay you?”

They feed an apple to the mare and stroke her nose a few times before turning to him with a small smile, “Don’t mention it. Normally I don’t save humans but there’s something…off…about you.” They frown for a second and then quickly change the subject, “If you feel any more nausea, confusion, or sudden fatigue let me know and I’ll be able to give you another healing session.” They throw an apple with sudden strength and speed towards him. Jaskier shrieks and holds up a hand to protect his face squinting his eyes shut in haste, waiting for the inevitable blow to the face. The apple hits him square in the palm as he catches it with a heavy smack.

“Hm.” Is all their only reply as they start to undress right then and there. Jaskier quickly turns around and begins to make haste work of his apple. What the hell could that possibly mean? ‘Something off about him’. As far as he knows he’s one hundred percent human thank-you-very-much. This Witcher must be crazy Jaskier thinks to himself. But he can’t very well say that to the person who just saved his life and took care of his concussion. It’s a few moments before he finally speaks again. “So…” Jaskier searches his mind for a safe topic of conversation, “What’s your horses name?”

“Earl Grey.” Is the reply.

Jaskier frowns in confusion. “Earl Grey? But Earl is…” He turns around to see them giving him a very good “no-please-continue-with-that-fucking-stupid-statement-captain-obvious” expression. “Ok, you know what, forget I said anything. Earl. What a wonderfully beautiful name if you ask me!” Is all Jaskier says on the subject as they fall into silence.

Once finished getting dressed, they finally settle down next to Jaskier in the slowly warming sand. They’ve changed into a flowing black tunic and black leather pants not covered in blood. Their black boots shine in the sun as they pull them onto their feet. Jaskier can see a nude cloth wrapped tight around their chest from the short V-neck opening. They take a huge bite from their apple and stare up at the sky with a soft open expression on their face.

Jaskier ponders the sight before him in confusion. He has never seen Geralt act so nonchalant and carefree before. He had previously assumed all Witchers were stuffy and jaded. But this one continues to render him speechless. He clears his throat and holds out a hand to the rare phenomena in front of him, “I’m Jaskier.”

They regard him with bright amber cat-eyes that betray their surprise at the hand extended in front of them. Like they can’t believe someone is willing to touch them.

“Andromeda.” They say grabbing his hand in a firm handshake, sticky from the apple.

Jaskier vaguely remembers the name from last night and looks back to where Andromeda’s black and grey armor lays in the shade beneath a tree. “Your armor looks different from the other Witchers I’ve met.” He knows there’s no ‘Other Witchers’ besides Geralt. It’s only a little white lie but they don’t need to know that. “You don’t seem to be from the School of Wolf."

Andromeda laugh is loud and boisterous. “Astute observation, Jaskier.” They take another big bite of apple and start talking with their mouth full, “No. I’m not a Wolf.” They reach into their tunic and pull out a silver medallion in the shape of a sinuous snake. “Viper.” They say, continuing to eat and noticing Jaskier has stopped eating his. “You should eat. We have a long way to go before we reach Dol Blathanna.”

Jaskier frowns in confusion. “Why am I going to Dol Blathanna?”

Andromeda looks at them like he’s a special kind of stupid and places their hands together under their chin in mock contemplation. “Hmmm, let me think. That’s a tough question, Professor." Jaskier's eyes roll all the way back at the suddenly vicious sarcasm. "Maybe it’s because those Nilfgaardians were looking specifically for you, bard. On your own you wouldn’t even make it to Kerak before being captured again.”

Jaskier huffs, “Fine, why are _we_ going to Dol Blathanna then?”

“It’s home. And I need to go back.” They say matter-of-factly like it's not open for debate.

Jaskier squints in confusion, “Home? Isn’t the Viper School somewhere in remote Aedirn?”

“Was.” Andromeda corrects him giving him a huge toothy smile. “You know something about Witcher Schools bard, color me impressed.” They chuck their finished apple core over their shoulder where it disappears into the trees and flop onto their back in the sand to absorb the sun.

“I’ve met plenty of Witcher’s.” Jaskier says sullenly.

They squint one eye open to observe him, “Where did you say you were from again Jaskier?”

“I didn’t. And it's Oxenfurt.” Jaskier figures it’s better to answer any of the Witcher’s questions anyway.

Two eyes open and narrow as they sit up quick as lightning, “You’re lying.”

Jaskier scoffs. They continue to speak before he even has the chance to interrupt, “You lied about how many Witcher’s you really know. You lied about your name too.” They start listing all his half-truths he’d just told on their fingers, “I mean, you believe you’re telling the truth which makes me believe that ‘Jaskier’ is your chosen name, which I respect, but we can’t travel together if we keep secrets from each other.”

Jaskier responds in bewilderment, “My real name is Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove. How the fuck did you do that?”

They hum in approval, “Redanian Noble. You’re telling the truth.” They begin to gather their hair up on top of their head. “Explains why you’re so secretive.”

Jaskier puts his hands on his hip in affronted frustration that they won’t answer _his_ questions, “Now, just hold on just a minute! How do you know if I’m lying or not?” He asks using his best Viscount voice.

Andromeda closes their eyes and finishes tying their hair up in a high tight ponytail, completely ignoring his tone of voice to answer honestly. “I can feel the vibrations of the Earth. They tell me where things are around me, from trees to animals to insects and most especially humans. I can hear their heartbeats with my enhanced hearing and feel their heartbeats through the vibrations of the Earth. When humans lie, their heart rates accelerate. Besides,” They flop back into the sand on their back, “We Vipers weren’t known for their keen sense of sight like the Wolves of Kaer Morhen.” They point to their own aquiline nose, “we had the better noses.” 

In all the years he traveled with Geralt, Geralt never once offered up information about himself or his life. Jaskier has always had to pry it out of him like a stubborn cat from a tree and even then it’s only a few words. Andromeda just gives him information freely and willingly. “Well your nothing like Geralt that’s for sure.” He mutters under his breath.

Andromeda squeals and claps their hands in excitement, “Ah! I knew you were Geralt’s bard!” Jaskier stares in amazement at another display of emotion. “Toss a Coin to Your Witcher O’ Valley of Plenty!” They start singing in a surprisingly beautiful and strong voice. “I’ve heard all your songs through the grapevine. Maybe you can write something about how I valiantly and bravely saved your life.” They do a dramatic swoon. “The ladies will be all over me! And Geralt will be so _pissed_ that I stole his bard.”

“You know Geralt?” Jaskier is hopeful that he might get to learn more about him.

It’s clear from the look on their face that they don't. “No. We’ve never crossed paths." They say and then get real excited, "But I’ve met his Brother, Eskel, did a couple hunts together we did. He talked about his Brother’s, Geralt and Lambert, all _the time._ ” They say dramatically, “Like, I’ve _never_ talked about my Brothers the way he does. He loves them a lot, I can tell. He mentioned a few years back that Geralt met some bard who wouldn’t stop following him around. “ They sigh again, “Good man, Eskel.”

Jaskier can’t quite believe what he’s hearing. He wants to meet this Eskel, and force him to tell Jaskier everything he knows about Geralt. “You are truly one of a kind.” He says meaning every word. 

“Oh really, and what gave it away?” They speak sarcastically as if speaking to a particularly stupid five-year-old. Jaskier pouts at the mockery fed up with how mean their being. “Was it the feminine physical traits I possess?” They say it breathy-like, dragging their hand sensuously down their whole body in a manner that would even make a whore blush. Jaskier feels himself turn scarlet. “Or was it the pointy ears?” They pull their own ear once. “Or maybe it’s this?” They reach towards the river and a smooth stream of water flows vertically from the river and towards them. It flows around Jaskier, under his armpit, around his neck, above his head, following every movement of Andromeda’s hand. “Face it, there ain’t no other Witcher like me.”

“Yes, quite. How exactly are you able to do that?” Jaskier marvels at the sight.

Andromeda brings the water back towards themself and creates different shapes with the water in midair. “I’ve never known how or why really. The Masters all assumed it had something to do with my Elven heritage or the fact that I’m the only _female_ Witcher to survive the Trial of the Grasses.” They shudder and gag as they say the word _female_. “All I remember from before the Trials is having powerful urges and dreams to meditate on the elements." It's clear the reminisce is a good one from their training days, "I’d meditate for hours and then do something completely unexpected during training sessions.” They laugh, “One time I set someone’s hair on fire after they called me a stupid girl. They were just salty because I beat them in a knife throwing contest.”

Jaskier frowns, “Geralt can use fire too though. I’ve seen him do it once against a pack of drowners. That’s not unique to Witchers.”

Andromeda smiles at that, “One day I’ll show you the difference between an Igni and what I can do.” They stand and begin putting footwork to the hand motions creating a deadly dance between Witcher and Water. Jaskier can clearly see the light steps and fluid fighting style of the Viper School in their movements and acrobatics, with just a bit of showing off. 

“Why can’t you do it now?”

Andromeda frowns and sends the water back into the river expertly with little splash and a huff of frustration. “I’ve tried using two elements in one day and it drains me to the point of exhaustion. I can meditate on more than one and feel the connection no problem. It’s my control that gets weaker and that’s especially dangerous when using elements like Fire.” They lift the sleeve of their right arm to show a gruesome burn scar and don’t say anything more as they walk towards their armor to start putting it on. “That’s why I said earlier we’re stuck with Water today. I wanted to meditate on Earth so we could travel by means of underground tunnels but we’ll have to make do with what we’re given.” They sigh as they put their black gloves on.

Jaskier decides not to prod. They did save his life after all and he owes them a great debt. He can already imagine the ballads he could write about this strange Witcher he just met. And his heart aches again because Geralt is nothing like them. They seem to actually like and appreciate his company while Geralt probably always saw him as a nuisance. He wonders just what it would be like to see Geralt laugh and smile, freely and openly with him. A sudden lyric comes to mind and he smacks a palm against his forehead.

“My lute! Oh no.” He frets, “How will I ever create those ballads without my precious lute! Oh, Filavendrel will be so upset if he hears.”

“Relaaax. I’ve got it here.” They just finished putting their dark grey chest and shoulder pieces on and pick up Jaskier’s lute by the neck from the saddle-bag, “I’ve got your notebook too. Sorry about the ink though.” They give him one last sheepish look before putting their mask on. Jaskier is upset to see the borders being created and boundaries being set between them, but he understands after being with Geralt for so long. “I’ve heard there’s a noonwraith that needs taking care of in Gors Velen. I’ll buy you another bottle after I get paid.”

An arrow flies from the tree line and lands right where Andromeda’s head was a second before.

Their eyes fly wide and Jaskier stumbles to his feet running towards them as another arrow sticks into the sand where he was just sitting.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” Andromeda curses as they hastily untie Earl from the tree. “Run girl run!” They smack the mares’ ass and she gallops off into the tree line with a nervous neigh.

Jaskiers lute is thrown unceremoniously into his hands. Suddenly the sounds around him narrow down to just the sound of his own heartbeat and panicked breathing. His ears hone in to the sound of a string of a bow being released. Before he can say anything, a sickening thud and a shout of pain brings noise crashing back into his ears all at once. He bends down to cover his ears and squint his eyes as now he can hear _everything._ The shouting of men from the trees, the sound of the river roaring, the breathing and heartbeats of so many _people_ , even the wind is too **loud**. But he owes it to Andromeda to make it out of this alive and he gathers the courage to watch a sudden wall of water encircling them in protection, quickly freezing into thick ice.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck! That fucking hurts!”

Jaskier stares at Andromeda and where the arrow struck through the muscle above the collarbone. They squint their eyes shut and reach over to yank the arrow out with a pained grunt. They draw a little water from the ice shield and press it against the wound, the water glows blue and their eyes show a little relief. Jaskier is hyperventilating now. They're fucked now. How did they find them so fast? It feels like they barely escaped and now they’re trapped again.

“Jaskier!” Andromeda is shouting and pulling his face to force him to look into their eyes. He can hear the ping of arrows hitting their makeshift ice dome. “Jaskier, listen to me. Ok? I’m going to lower the shield and we’re going run into the river. You are going to make it out of this alive. Do you trust me?”

Jaskier can’t breathe. He’s never been so terrified in his life. He can smell the blood on their black leather armor. At least he can’t see the blood he thinks to himself. His heart is beating loud in his ears and he can hear muffled shouts now from behind the shield.

“Do you trust me?” They say forcing him to meet their eyes.

He thinks about Geralt and if it were Geralt with him in this situation right now. He doesn’t hesitate as he nods his head.

They nod and pat his shoulder once. “On my count.” They narrow their eyes at the shield and wince slightly as they pull their steel short sword from behind. They ready their stance. “Three…Two…”

The water suddenly melts all at once and rushes in front of him protectively. He hears the sound of an arrow hitting steel and he’s running towards the river as fast as his feet can carry him, his lute clutched tightly in his hands. He runs faster than he has ever run in his whole life. He feels an arrow fly past his head just as he feels his boots connect with river water. He’s barely waded in and he’s quickly being picked up again with one arm and suddenly they are _rushing_ on top of a huge tsunami of water racing impossibly fast up the river current.

Jaskier grips the Witcher as tight as possible and looks back to watch raven black hair emerging from the tree line just as they turn a bend in the river.

… …. …. ….

Raurket watches the bard and Witcher disappear around a bend in the river and turns to his men. His men who are all just standing there with open mouths gaping wide. Raurket rolls his eyes. Absolutely useless pieces of shit. All of them.

He draws a blade from his belt and throws it into the nearest soldier. He screams as blood begins to shoot out of a gaping hole in his throat. “Why the fuck are you all just standing there and not following them?! **MOVE!”** He commands.

They quickly snap to their senses and begin preparing the horses to travel up the river bank, ignoring the choked sounds of a slowly dying man at their feet. Raurket turns back to the tree line and picks his way through the trees. Compared to his own enhanced senses, his men would be utterly useless finding anything amiss in their immediate surroundings. He closes his eyes and inhales deeply through his nose, filtering out the smell of the frightened horse and poisonous Viper Witcher blood. He finds the sweet scent of the bard’s fear, the pain emanating from the Witcher and something decidedly sweeter than the rest He finds the discarded apple core and smells a faint tinge of magic on it. He turns to his new second in command Lhund while he observes the apple like one would a precious gem.

“Go get the mage.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm serious about that beta read if anyone is interested and free. I always need more help. 
> 
> As always, leave a comment, kudos, or don't. 
> 
> Next Chapter in the works: Nightmares and Daydreams
> 
> <3


	3. Nightmares and Daydreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello dear readers! 
> 
> This chapter was a little harder to write, I had major writers block for a few days.
> 
> Hope you enjoy it. To all the people who have left kudos and comments, those who are reading and bookmarking. I thank you from the bottom of my heart. You are appreciated <3
> 
> Also, I can't figure out why my formatting is wonky. Doesn't change the story, it just bothers me aesthetically.

Ciri knows she should accept her fate and succumb to the horrifying nightmares that plague her mind with each coming night. They change from night to night, and yet they’re always the same. With blood on her hands, and drowning in death. She dreams of her dying Grandmothers last words and of everyone who’d died horrific deaths to protect her. She dreams of the murders and deaths she’s had to witness and the encompassing terror of being truly _alone._

Ciri’s hyperventilating and covered in sweat when she wakes. She tries not to wake Geralt and buries her face deep into her bedroll choking back a sob. She can feel the beginnings of a powerful scream growing in her chest, her chaos desperately fighting for release. After a few minutes of deep breathing, her heart rate finally begins to slow and the maelstrom within her retreats deep into her belly.

“Nightmares?” The question is barely heard.

Ciri looks to where Geralt is not sleeping but sitting cross-legged by the dying embers, his reflective eyes glowing in the moonlight, a pensive look on his face as he stares at the embers as if they hold some hidden meaning to life. He looks like he’s been trying and failing to meditate based on the bags beneath his eyes.

She looks down at her bloodless hands and inhales the crisp night air deep into her lungs and releases slowly, “Yeah.”

She’s not embarrassed to admit it to him, knowing that if anyone understands what she’s going through, it’s Geralt. Ciri’s been traveling with him for only a brief time, but she sees how much death and despair, pain and fear, rejection and hatred, Geralt has to endure daily. She closes her eyes concentrating on the sounds of the wind rustling the leaves and an owl hooting in the distance.

“Hm.” Is his only response.

Ciri’s used to that too, how little Geralt talks.

Geralt doesn’t seem have to have many people in his life who willingly want to talk to him. They were chased out of Gors Velen before Geralt could even get to the Baron's house to accept a contract about a noonwraith plaguing the city. Rocks were thrown at them and screams of “butcher” and “monster” followed them with pitchforks until they were safely out of the city limits and away from its people.

She turns to fully face him studying his expression closely as much as she can see by just the light of a full moon. Ciri can barely make out the pinched expression of someone in pain. She thinks she kind of looks like that when she thinks about her Grandmother. 

“Who are you thinking about?” She asks him softly in the dark.

Geralt looks up as if he’s been caught and the mask of indifference falls back into place too quickly for her to know he’s lying. “No one.”

He stands up and begins strapping his swords onto his back before she can ask him anything else. “I’m going to check the area and stand watch. Stay here with Roach.”

Ciri sighs and settles back down into her bedroll. She knows she wont be able to fall back asleep but she can at least try and rest for Geralt who’s forgoing any sleep to make sure she is safe.

“Will you ever tell me about them?” She asks the question to his back.

Geralt pauses in his movements for only a moment. His back stiff and his shoulders slightly hunched in as if protecting himself. “Maybe someday.” Is all he says before quietly retreating into the night.

Ciri stares up at the moon and stars trying to remember all the constellations her tutors showed her in books. She’s found a few before she hears a low humming, carried on the wind. It’s not loud or very melodic but it’s peaceful. It’s not until the first light of dawn begins to shine in beautiful colors of pinks and blues does she realize whom it’s coming from.

… … … …

“Is it someone I know of?”

Geralt has to reign in all his patience, power and strength he didn’t know he possessed to try not to snap at Ciri and all her insistent questions. It’s all she’s wanted to talk about all morning.

They are currently traveling through the Brokilon Forest. Geralt hopes to get them through the Mahakam Mountain pass to Vengerberg before summers over. He needs to find Yennefer and hope she agrees to help Ciri in harnessing her gift. Geralt can teach her how to fight, hunt, and defend herself, but when it comes to magic, Yennefer would be a far better teacher than he.

“No.”

A brief moment of silence passes between them.

“Are they dead?” She asks very quietly.

_That_ has Geralt stopping dead in his tracks.

He finally allows himself to think about Jaskier. All his ridiculous doublets in bright colors that always seemed to make his cornflower blue eyes shine brighter. The way he laughed, his incessant chatter, and the _singing_. He was annoying, spoiled and more trouble than he’s worth. But while Geralt ruins everything he touches, Jaskier brings life out in the people he encounters. Whether it’s livening a crowd or the anger, potent from a jilted lover. Geralt is the feared monster of the night and Jaskier…Jaskier is the sun.

He thinks of the last thing he ever said to him.

Geralt tries to shove his feelings back into the proverbial bottle. He can’t go back and change the past as much as he wants to. What’s done is done _. Jaskier will be much better off._ He tells himself every single day. _He can live a long happy life and not be in constant danger._ His chest feels unexpectedly tight.

“I…don’t know.” He answers honestly.

Ciri doesn’t say anything more as they silently continue their trek through the forest.

Geralt feels on edge. Not just from the conversation that lead to a sudden onslaught of memories that are too dangerous for him to be thinking about right now. No, Geralt has a bad feeling. His instincts screaming that there’s something….strange…or ominous about the area.

Suddenly the stench of fear, blood, and death has him gagging and trowing a gloved hand over his nose to block smell. Even Roach, who sees more blood and death than any normal horse, is displeased. Stomping her hooves into the ground and snorting.

“Geralt what is that?” Ciri scrunches her nose and buries her face into the sleeve of her tunic.

Geralt draws his sword and starts moving towards where the smell is coming from. “Stay here.” He orders.

“Let me come with you.” She begs, “I can help. “

“No.”

“But Geralt…”

He whirls around quick, his patience and temper frayed to the very end. “I said no! Stay here.” He points to the dirt in front of him to drill in the point and turns away drawing his sword.

Geralt hears Ciri grumble in protest as he walks away and he has to physically bite his tongue to not snap at the child. She has zero sense of self-preservation, just like….

And through the scent of his leather glove and the stench of death in his nose, he catches the scent of a very familiar smell. Of lemon oil, lavender, and warm sunshine. Of comfort.

_Jaskier._

It takes every ounce of Vesemir's training to stop himself from running forward and into potential danger. He crouches low as he slowly makes his way through the underbrush, listening closely to his surroundings and slowly approaching where the smell is emanating from. Geralt scavenges the forest floor a little desperately for any tangible evidence that Jaskier was _here_. He comes to a little clearing in the trees and studies the sight before him.

There are five bodies surrounding what looks like an old campfire pit. He flips one of them over and feels his heart begin to beat a little bit quicker at the Nilfgaardian sun symbol. He closes his eyes and breathes deep into his lungs to scent the whole area. Just beneath the stench of fear, blood and decay is the vaguely familiar smell of potions, poison, and magic.

He begins to inspect the blood in the grass, Jaskier’s scent strongest from a small amount near the base of an ancient oak tree. There’s not enough to determine what kind of injury he sustained and Geralt exhales in momentary relief that he isn’t dead. _No body also proves that,_ he thinks to himself stupidly. His heart clenches at the thought of Jaskier captured by Nilfgaardian soldiers who never takes prisoners. Which means they were looking _for_ the bard. And what information could Jaskier possibly know that Nilfgaardians want? _Fuck._ This is why he needed Jaskier to leave him. Why he'd hurled such hurtful words at him. So this wouldn’t happen.

Somebody obviously rescued him. He can tell from the boot prints that are just a few meters behind Jaskier’s blood and the cut rope discarded in the dirt. The person jumped down from high up in the tree based on the heavy boot imprints. The prints are smaller than he thought they would be based on state of the soldier’s bodies. The amount of strength it takes to cut off limbs in one fell swoop would require the strength of a….

“What happened?”

Geralt spins to see Ciri standing in the tree line staring at the bodies of the soldiers. “I thought I told you to stay with Roach.” He snarls resignedly, making his way over to the next body. It’s better that Ciri is in his sight anyway. Now that he knows Nilfgaardians are potentially looking for him. This one's arm is cut off at the shoulder, a sword still grasped tight in it's hand. _Fuck._ They need to get to Vengerberg quicker than expected.

“Somebody was ambushed here.” He says pointing to where the remains of the fire are, not mentioning Jaskier’s name yet. She doesn’t need to know how guilty Geralt feels right now. “Nilfgaardians came out of here.” He points to an outcropping of tall bushes to the left where a soldier lays face down halfway through the branches. “”This one seems to have died first.” He grabs the mans helmet to look at his face and sees a dagger protruding from his throat. It’s the same dagger he gave to Jaskier three years ago. His worst fears are confirmed, he stands quickly taking a deep breath to steady himself and yanks the dagger from the mans throat. He wipes the blood off and sticks it carefully in his boot for now. “We need to leave.” He turns to Ciri and sees her plucking a paper from a dead mans hand. She carefully straightens out the crumpled page and reads what it says.

“I am weak my love and I am wanting. If this is the path I must trudge, I welcome my sentence.” She stops, “What would Nilgfaardian soldiers want with a bard?”

_She’s perceptive._ He thinks. _She’ll make a great Queen someday._

“Let’s go.” Is all he says.

Taking the page gently from her and taking her hand in his, he leads her away from the scene and quickly to Roach. He folds the page gently and places it into the potion bag at his hip. He tries hard not to think about where the bard might be right now, and what a Witcher would possibly want with Jaskier enough to save the his life in the first place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: A Leaf in the Wind


	4. A Leaf in the Wind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They run. They hunt. And a revelation makes itself known.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am taking serious creative liberty with this story. Sorry that it took so long, I had to move back home with my parents to save money. I should be doing homework, but this is much more satisfying. 
> 
> One again, I'm having formatting issues, sorry. 
> 
> Maybe I should mention now that I don't own the creative content of The Witcher or Avatar the Last Airbender. I'm just writing a story.

Andromeda, with Jaskier in their arms, races across the river top on a rushing wave of water until they physically couldn’t carry him any longer.

“I need to stop.” The harsh pant in Jaskier’s ear sounds fatigued. Jaskier can’t help but feel bad for them. They’ve been carrying him and using magic for over twenty minutes now.

They point to where a weeping willows branches drapes over a bend in the river, obscuring the beach from view. The wave shrinks smaller and smaller as they approach the sandy bend. Andromeda steps off the water and onto the earth, unceremoniously dropping Jaskier onto his ass and collapsing face first, breathing heavily.

“Fucking _fuck_.” They’re breathing _hard_.

Jaskier crawls through the sand to their side and flips them over to their back. Sweat causes the sand to stick to the side of their face. He manically reaches for their chest plate and shoulder piece, trying to get the armor off to inspect the arrow wound underneath. He can’t stop his hands from shaking.

They try to bat his hands away, “Stop. Just leave me alone for a moment while I catch my breath. I haven’t used my magic like that in a long time.” They rip the mask off their face getting air deep into their lungs, holding it, and releasing slowly in an extended exhale.

Jaskier huffs an irritated breath in fear, “Now is not the time to be playing this game! I need to clean and wrap that wound _now_ so it doesn’t get infected! And that man from last night? Remember him? The one who almost _killed us_ is out there following us!” Jaskier feels like he is beginning to lose his mind. The growing terror inside making his chest tight and uncomfortable.

Andromeda’s piercing eyes lock onto Jaskier’s frightened ones. They pull their armor aside briefly for Jaskier to see unblemished skin underneath. “Breathe Jas. I’ve taken care of it, look. It’s healed. See? I just need to rest a moment.” Their breathing is still coming out too harsh. They suck a breath deep into their lungs and release an ear splitting whistle. They rest their head back onto the cold sand and close their eyes.

Jaskier watches them very closely. His heart pounding hard in his chest, he demands answers. “Who the fuck is that man and why is he chasing us?”

The shake their head and heave themselves up with a grunt. A tight grip on his upper arm hauls Jaskier onto his feet. “No time.”

Jaskier huffs in annoyance, _typical Witcher_ he thinks. _Always keeping secrets and doing secret….Witcher things._ They push through the willow branches quietly, searching their surroundings for any trace of Nilfgaardians in the area. A snuffle and padding hooves announces Earl’s presence as she emerges from the tree line, her nostrils flaring and her eyes wide. Andromeda quickly throws themself up into the saddle and reaches a hand down for Jaskier. Andromeda notices Jaskier’s hesitation.

“Do you trust me?”

Jaskier closes his eyes and nods as he reaches for their hand. They help him up into the saddle behind them. “Hold on tight.” They nudge Earl and the mare takes off.

Just before leaving the clearing, Andromeda turns in the saddle and lifts an arm up in a fluid motion. Jaskier turns to watch a powerful wave crash over their footsteps and recede back into the river, successfully covering their tracks.

A sudden jump over a fallen tree has Jaskier gripping their waist tight and holding on for his dear life.

… … … …

They pass Gors Velen, that’s exactly where Nilfgaard would expect them to go, and instead head East towards a village called Dorian, located in the marshy swampland outside the Brokilon forest. It’s a poor town, and Andromeda explained on one of their short rests that they always have Drowner and Kikimora problems.

“It’s a good place to grab some coin, sleep in an actual bed, and be on our way by dawn.” They say hours before reaching Dorian. The sun is just starting to set over the horizon and Jaskier is so tired that he doesn’t protest.

They finally reach the village late in the night and head straight for the inn to secure two rooms and stable for the next few days.

Jaskier drags his bag, lute and feet to the room he’ll be staying in after bidding Andromeda a quiet goodnight. Their only acknowledgment in return being a tip of their hand forward in a mock salute before heading to their own room. He stops only to take his boots off and falls asleep as soon as his face hits the lumpy mattress.

The next morning brings birdsong and warm sunshine. Jaskier wakes from a night of completely dreamless sleep. His drool covers the mattress beneath him and the side of his face. He wrinkles his nose in disgust and goes to where a pitcher of water rests on a small table. He takes a long drink and uses the rest to rinse the long journey of sweat, blood, and grime off his face and armpits. He needs a bath desperately and whines despairingly at the state of his ruined emerald green doublet. He’s going to have to play all night to afford food and a bath. Hopefully they can stop in a city next so he can buy a new outfit.

He changes into a navy blue doublet with a white tunic underneath before heading out into the main room of the inn, which also serves as the local tavern. He sees Andromeda already talking to the Alderman of the town in their freshly cleaned armor. The mask remains off their face during the negotiation and their hair is done in an intricate half up half down. Beautiful, while still being practical for a Witcher.

Andromeda turns as soon as they notice his presence in the room and waves Jaskier over to where they stand.

“Is there anything else you can tell me about it before I go. Where it lives? Anything?” Jaskier notices how Andromeda’s voice has taken on a deeper more gravely tone. Gone is the jovial and loud person Jaskier met only days ago and now who stands before him is the spitting image of Geralt.

Andromeda pushes a plate of bread and cheese towards Jaskier and his stomach grumbles in hunger. He doesn’t ask how much he owes them and promptly starts shoveling the food into his mouth. Gods he’s so hungry, he hasn’t eaten since that apple yesterday morning. 

The Alderman shakes his head. He’s an older man, his back not yet hunched by age but his hair is almost all grey. The wrinkles around his face suggest many decades tilling under the sun. “I only know what I told you.” He says a bit desperately. “Please help us Master Witcher. We can’t afford to lose any more of our men.”

“I do Kikimora jobs for 200 crowns.” They say.

The Alderman pulls out a sack and places it on the bar before them, “I have 150, and I’ll let you stay another night if you bring its head.”

Andromeda takes the bag and waves Jaskier over. “Done.” Jaskier quickly shoves the last of the bread and gulps down the rest of his watered down ale and stands up grabbing his lute.

“Don’t worry Mr. Alderman, my Witcher here is one of the best around! Tell everyone that The Viper will slay your Kikimora and save your towns men! And women! ” Jaskier quickly follows the Witcher when the Alderman grumbles something about a “Redanian Pansy”.

They’re walking towards the stables where Earl is and Jaskier is beginning to strum a few notes on his lute. “Sooo, you get shot with an arrow the day previous and now you’re going to try to take down a Kikimora?” Jaskier sounds incredulous because he is. Geralt would never go on a hunt so shortly after being injured unless he was trying to escape Jaskier’s constant talking. Jaskier learned when to actually shut up after Geralt came back after one hunt worse for wear, guts dripping off his entire body. Jaskier wonders where Geralt is right now. Whether he misses him as much as he does.

Andromeda snorts in response, saddling up Earl who is gladly eating her share of oats and hay. “I told you I’m fine. See?” They rotate their arm without even a wince, “Golden.” They tie the mask to their face and then lead Earl from the stables and onto the street, mounting quickly.

Jaskier frowns as the mask is replaced once again, “Why do you wear that thing?” You look so much better without it. Handsome even!”

Jaskier can see the gleam in their eye at the compliment. “I don’t want people to see me.” They say it with such finality as they reach for Jaskier’s hand.

Jaskier stares at the hand in bewilderment. “You want me to come with you? On a contract? To hunt a Kikimora??”

Andromeda’s eyes twinkle in amusement, “Face it Jas, you’re safer with me than you would be on your own. You don’t strike me as the type to have a way with words.” Jaskier loves this Witcher’s sense of humor and never ending sarcasm, but it grates on him a bit that he’s on the butt end of the joke.

Jaskier gives them his best indignant scoff, “You have single handedly wounded my pride. Well done you. Gold star.” He grabs Andromeda’s hand and lets them hoist him up onto Earl. They laugh loudly and lead them both out of town.

They’d just made it to where land becomes darkened swamp when Andromeda brings Earl to a stop and throw themselves off the mares back. They rummage into their bag and pull a bottle of blue potion downing it in one go. They grimace at the taste. “Ugh, Cat is the worst tasting one for sure.” A shudder runs through their body and their eyes turn black, the veins around their eyes shimmering with poison.

Jaskier jumps off into the mud with a squelch and grimaces at the state of his boots now beyond repair. He finds a semi dry boulder to sit on and starts plucking a few chords on his lute. “So I’ll just wait for you here then while you go off and do your Witchery things. Make sure you tell me all the details, every single one. And don’t hold back on the detail! God’s only know how terrible Geralt is at descriptions.” He might as well make a good song out of the detour. “Aren’t you worried those Nilfgaardians will find us here?”

They draw their silver sword and inspect it before swinging it once in a big arch with a swoosh. “It’ll take Raurket at least two more days to realize we didn’t go to Gors Velen and by then we’ll be long gone. Besides we need the money.” They wrinkle their nose, “Your smell is offending my nose.”

_That’s it!_ Jaskier opens his mouth to say something severely snide when a huge Kikimora emerges from beneath the swamp water with a loud and angry roar. Earl immediately turns tail and runs away and Jaskier stares up at the eight-legged beast in pure terror. Sweet Meletile, no wonder why Geralt never let him come along on these hunts. It roars at them again before it charges.

“Sweet Meletiles tits you’re one ugly piece of shit!” Andromeda antagonizes before they start running through the swamp towards the charging monster.

The Kikimora rears it’s two sharp front legs to attack Andromeda with the loudest roar Jaskier has ever heard in his life. It makes his eardrums ache and his heart vibrate in his chest. And Andromeda is _leaping_ in the air… Jaskier’s jaw drops as he watches almost in slow motion as they do a graceful flip ten feet into the air, he watches as their bicep muscles bulges as they heave a powerful yet quick upswing, landing a slice on it’s unprotected back and landing with their back to the beast on one knee. The Kikimora screams in pain kicking out one of its back legs at Andromeda.

Jaskier screams, “Watch out!” At the same time as they easily dodge around the attack. Jaskier can’t help but stare in amazement; they didn’t even _look._ Andromeda uses the momentum to swing a quick swipe of their sword into the leg, slicing it clean off its body. The Kikimora spins around screaming and swipes a leg out hitting them straight in the chest. They grunt and fly, back first, towards a tree. Before their back can connect, they flip up and with a graceful twirl of their limbs they end up defying all laws of gravity, landing feet first into the tree trunk and pushing off with a grunt sending a powerful gust of wind followed by a sharp slice of their sword.

The Kikimora is thrown off balance as Andromeda slices another leg off. Jaskier senses that this battle rapidly coming to an end. The Kikimora screams as Andromeda disposes of it’s legs until it can no longer stand. With a final roar of the Kikimora and a swing of Andromeda’s sword, they plunge the blade straight into the back of its skull. The swamp goes deathly quiet and Andromeda hefts a sigh of relief, making quick work of removing the head from the body and trudging back soaking wet to dry land.

Earl reemerges from the trees with a whinny and a nudge of her head into Andromeda’s side, happy to see her master ok. Andromeda removes the mask, giving Earl a pat on her neck before tying up the head to the back of the saddle.

Jaskier finally unfreezes from his place on the boulder, standing up and brushing off any dirt from his doublet. “Well that might’ve been one of the most terrifying experiences of my life. But I finally have first hand experience! Oh this is going to make an excellent epic.” He begins strumming a tune out on his lute and starts trying to piece a stance together.

“It’s one of my quicker hunts that’s for sure.” They say as they finish tying the Kikimora’s head to the saddle. They turn around glance down at themself in disgust. Placing one fist into an open palm, a dome of air comes rushing outwards from their body, drying their clothes and armor and yanking the excess muck of the swamp off.

“Let’s go Jas. Time for you to write me that song and I need a fucking drink.”

… … … …

They’re back at the tavern and the village has been drinking for the Viper Witcher’s victory for a solid few hours now. Andromeda flirts with one of the barmaids, a pretty young blonde with fair blue eyes, who sits in their lap giggling and feeling their muscles while also running fingers through their long red hair. Jaskier has just finished performing his newest epic he wrote about the aforementioned Witcher. How they valiantly swept into town, killing the beast in a tornado of speed and grace.

A leaf in the wind.

Jaskier ties off the evening with a round of “Toss a Coin” as his final performance. The village sings along drunkenly, the coin raining down on him by the end.

He delivers an elaborate bow usually saved for those of nobility with a grand sweep of his arm. “Thank you all kind people! It has been an honor playing for you all! Remember to toss a coin to your lovely Viper Witcher!”

The tavern cheers for Andromeda with raised tankards and flying coins. Andromeda raises their own ale with a nod in celebration. The tavern finally settles back down to easy camaraderie and conversation. Jaskier weaves his way back to Andromeda’s table where a tankard of ale waits for him and he gulps it down greedily to soothe his parched throat. The bar maid in Andromeda’s lap giggles at something they say quietly into her ear. Jaskier turns red as he watches them kiss a line down the woman’s throat.

Jaskier secretly pines and aches for Geralt. He wishes to be traveling with him again like the good old days and not on the run from power crazy Nilfgaardian soldiers. He misses the grunts of irritation and everything else than came with traveling with the White Wolf. It didn’t take long for Jaskier to fall deeply and madly in love with the man either. To be honest, he’s been in love with him since he was eighteen years old with bread in his pants. Jaskier always thought Geralt felt the same way. At least a little bit, in his own way. Until that day on the mountain.

Suddenly a wave of nausea and dizziness hits Jaskier and he’s bending over, placing his head in between his knees. His mouth fills with saliva and he vomits all over the floor of the tavern main room as his vision begins to darken around the edges. _Was the ale poisoned?! Am I dying?!!_ He thinks to himself as images begin to flash across his mind. He sees himself in the tavern at the same table. Andromeda is turned to Jaskier saying something he can’t hear. A man just behind them with dirty red hair and savage green eyes wields a raised dagger behind Andromeda. The man’s arm is drawn back high in rage.

Jaskiers vision clears and he feels a heavy hand on his shoulder. “Jas? Are you ok? Jaskier!” Jaskier struggles to breathe. _What the fucking fuck was that?!_ He looks up at Andromeda who’s on their knees in front of him. The pretty bar maid has a hand over her mouth and her eyes are wide. Andromeda runs their hand across his forehead. “You’re not feverish.” They stand up turning to the crowd surrounding them, “Alright everyone take a step back. Give him some space.” They begin ushering people back and away from where Jaskier’s trembling body is huddled on the floor.

A voice to the right speaks. “Who the fuck are you to be telling _us_ what to do?”

Andromeda whirls around to address the speaker, “I just took care of a problem _you_ were unable to. You should be on your fucking knees thanking me.” They speak the words viscously.

“You are an abomination! An Elf _and_ aWitcher? Not to mention a woman! It’s disgusting! We don’t need you!” A murmur of agreement rumbles through the gathered crowd of men.

Andromeda turns red in anger but says nothing in retaliation. Jaskier may feel like utter shit but he’s not going to let anyone talk to his friend that way and he whirls around to give them a piece of his mind when his world stops. _No._ It’s the man from his mind. Red hair. Glaring green eyes. An arm behind his back.

Andromeda turns around to face Jaskier again and that’s when Jaskier acts without thinking. He rushes from his place on the floor and shield’s Andromeda with his body from the dagger that swings towards their back. Jaskier throws his hands in front of him closing his eyes, waiting for the dagger to connect with his chest.

Sudden silence and a _ping_ has him opening his eyes. A purple shield circles the bard and Witcher. He looks to Andromeda and sees the bewildered expression in their amber cat eyes. Their mouth opens and closes in an attempt to make words. Jaskier looks at his hands and sees the energy emerging from his own fingertips. He shrieks and pulls his hands away, the shield dissipating in a _whoosh_ of energy.

“Aen Savherne.”

Jaskier turns back to Andromeda who’s grabbing his arm and pulling him towards the exit at the same time as a bloodcurdling scream has him stopping in his tracks. The man with red hair lies on the floor of the tavern, _a decaying corpse._ The dagger still clutched tight in his hand. His face looks like it’s been mummified for centuries. Jaskier feels like he’s going to vomit again. He’s being dragged out, his lute case clutched to his chest.

_What have I done?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know how good of an author I am. I have serious anxiety about posting. So, comments are always welcome. Constructive criticism and feedback is always welcome too. Kudos are great too! <3
> 
> Next Chapter: The Storm

**Author's Note:**

> Leave a kudos or comment if you like it. Let me know if you want this story continued. Let me know if there are typos or errors. <3


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